Demon in a Leather Jacket
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Crowley isn't good at accepting presents. So when Aziraphale wants to get him something, he has to be ... creative. Aziraphale x Crowley


_**Inspired by this incredible piece of fanart by lilianriekeart! post/187428939843/this-one-was-so-much-fun-i-wanted-to-kind-of-get**_

Crowley isn't good at accepting things – gifts, compliments, advice. His walls go up the moment he's presented with one. Those things are foreign to him, especially good-natured.

Aziraphale would love to shower his boyfriend with gifts and compliments. And possibly a few grains of advice. But there's a trick to it – a dance that Aziraphale learns when they decide to be together as a couple. It's pretty much what one would expect for an angel dating a demon.

And it goes a little something like this:

Walking by a vintage clothing shop in Soho, Aziraphale finds a leather jacket he thinks Crowley will love, one he thinks will look positively fabulous on him. He can't remember ever seeing Crowley in a leather jacket. As far as he knows, he doesn't own one.

Kind of surprising, but true.

So this would be a first.

Aziraphale goes inside the shop and enquires about it. As it turns out, the jacket has quite an impressive provenance – one that makes it a perfect match for his wily demon. But giving it to him would combine all of the three things Crowley doesn't take well. So making a gift of it is a definite no.

Aziraphale hatches a plan and buys it.

He buys it and 'hides' it in his shop, somewhere conspicuous enough that Crowley is sure to see it, but hidden under just enough papers and books that it looks like it's been there a while, slowly being uncovered by the constant work Aziraphale does day to day.

And it works.

The third time Crowley stops by for a drink, his eyes are drawn to the jacket on the sofa, pressed beneath a large volume of current tax codes and a stack of old receipts_._

"Whoa-ho-ho!" he crows, pulling it out with no concern whatsoever with Aziraphale's bookkeeping. "When did you get _this_?"

"Oh, that old thing?" Aziraphale says with a dismissive flip of his hand. "I came in possession of it some time ago ..."

_A week can be considered some time ago, right?_

"It belonged to a young man – a Johnny … mmm … something. He was part of a rock group with a rather pornographic name. Something involving fornicating and a gun, I believe."

"Sex Pistols?" Crowley asks in amazement.

"Yes, I think that was it." Aziraphale groans. "I can never bring myself to say it."

From the corner of his eye, he sees Crowley examine the jacket with both reverence and awe. He turns over the lapel, then looks on the inside, seeing something written there (something Aziraphale _knows_ is written there) that makes his eyes go wide. "This jacket belonged to _Johnny Rotten_!?"

"A-ha."

Crowley cocks an eyebrow at his angel, but he doesn't look suspicious.

He looks _jealous_.

Jealous because there was a long period of time when Sex Pistols was popular that Crowley didn't see Aziraphale. And the way he's talking – this vague story he's spinning – leaves enough to the imagination that Aziraphale can see Crowley believing that he met Johnny Rotten.

And that the man had reason to give him the jacket _personally_.

Crowley might just have to hunt him down and find out the full story for himself.

"You never told me you had a leather jacket that belonged to Johnny Rotten."

"It never came up, my dear."

Crowley grins. _'Well, well, well,'_ he thinks. _If his angel likes men in leather, he'll give him one._ "Too bad. 'ts mine now."

Aziraphale turns to look at him as the moment he's been waiting for arrives and Crowley ditches the jacket he's wearing in favor of this one and _oh my God_.

Crowley in his favorite black jeans and this leather jacket looks _decadent, _ineffably so.

Aziraphale stops breathing for a full on minute.

Thank goodness he doesn't actually need to.

"Whaddya think, angel?" Crowley asks, carding his hair back with his fingers. "How's it look?"

"Hmm …" Aziraphale tries his best to sound unaffected "… it definitely suits you."

"I'm glad you think so cuz I don't think I'll be taking this off anytime soon."

"Oh, no," Aziraphale mutters, a sly smile twisting his lips as his sexy demon starts strutting around his shop. With a snap of his fingers, he miracles the _open_ sign to _closed_ and locks the front door. "Whatever shall I do now?"


End file.
